Device – Queen – Prime Minister - Bomb – C4 - Explosive
Hi GCHQ,
Would you get 5 to send a couple of their male field officers - masked, and in tight leather jeans - and armed with restraints and a black leather blindfolding hood, to interrogate me please?
Thanks.
Adam pressed ‘Send’, leaned back in his chair, and finished himself off, catching the spunk in a tissue. As his breathing returned to normal he looked at the email on the screen and wished now that he hadn’t sent it, even though it had only been to his friend Geoff. He knew Geoff would chuckle and shake his head when he saw it and know exactly what it was about: another spunk-fuelled fantasy. As always, Geoff had put him on a no-cum period after last night’s milking, and those twenty-four hours had ended thirty minutes ago, so what did he expect? He cleaned his cock, pushed it back inside the old, thin, skintight, leather jeans he usually wore when he wanted to make himself horny for a wank, and struggled to get the zip done up over it. They weren’t the same as the MJs, but they got the job done.
Adam had been watching a TV series called ‘Spooks’ that evening and although he hadn’t fancied any of the guys in it, he found the whole idea of MI5, the facilities they had, and what they were capable of, incredibly horny - and his imagination had provided the sexy spies and interrogators. He knew that GCHQ had software like TEMPORA that could scan emails for keywords, so that was why he’d put some on the first line.
Would it come to the attention of the spooks? No, of course it wouldn’t. He was well aware that their software was sophisticated enough that even if the keywords triggered a flag, the rest of the message would get it discarded soon enough.
But the idea was horny, he’d thought.
He stretched, made himself a hot chocolate and surfed the net for a while before bed.
Two hours later, he was halfway up the stairs when the doorbell rang. It startled him – who’d be calling at this this time of night? Then his stomach flopped; had that email provoked a response? Don’t be fucking daft. Of course it hadn’t. He turned around and went to the door.
He’d only got it open an inch when it was suddenly forced the rest of the way. There was a brief image of something close to his face, and the lights went out. A hood – canvas by the feel of it – had been pulled quickly over his head.
His arms were grabbed, he was pushed back into the house by unseen hands, and he heard the front door close. He felt cool leather against his bare arms.
He was marched into the living room and pushed down into a chair, his hands cuffed behind him and his legs strapped together. A hand gathered the canvas at the back of his head and roughly pulled it tight across his face. They held it there for a moment, then yanked the hood off.
He stared at two guys – both wearing some of the sexiest black leather he’d ever seen. Tight jeans with combat boots over them, biker-type jackets with the collars turned up, tight leather gloves. And both of them were wearing black ski-masks which only showed their eyes. The one who had pulled the hood off his head walked around and stood behind him; the other was sat on a chair opposite, regarding him coolly.
“Adam Johnson, twenty-four. British national. Lab assistant at Pyrotech Solutions for the last two years. Before that, research assistant Carforth University. Motorcycle registration L600 BOY. One cat, name Basil. Resident this address five years.”
He swallowed. They knew a lot about him. But then they would.
“You may think it’s a laugh to send emails to the British Security Services detailing your sexual fantasies, but I’m here to tell you that we do not look kindly on members of the public wasting our time and resources.” He nodded to the guy behind him.
An industrial-weight black leather hood came down over his head. Adam had had a great many hoods on before now, but he’d never felt one like this before. It was very heavy, thick, and lined with loose, shiny leather on the inside. As the hood was tightened, the thick leather shell clamped around his head, but at the front it didn’t press as tightly over his face – which allowed the loose inside to cling to him with each inhalation. It felt like the leather was gagging him and blindfolding him again and again, with each breath he took. And he couldn’t hear a fucking thing through it. His cock started to get very hard again very quickly in his leather jeans.
He heard a crackle, and then the guy’s voice was in his ears. “You like leather, don’t you, Adam. Turns you on. Do you like that hood? Oh yes… I can see that you do. And being interrogated by two hunky masked guys in leather must be a fucking wet dream for you.”
He thought about trying to cover his erection, but then realised there was no way he could do that, and there was no point anyway – it sounded like they’d already seen it.
“We use that kind of hood a lot for interrogations. Gets very claustrophobic after a while. It’s designed to. And it has a few surprises in it. We’ll see if you still like it in an hour or two.
“I’m going to ask you some questions. And don’t worry – I’ll be able to hear your replies.”
There must be a mic in it, he thought; they’d never hear anything he said through this otherwise.
“Who is Geoff?”
If they knew so much about him, they must already know about Geoff. “Geoff is a friend.” It felt strange – dead - when he spoke inside this hood. “I’ve known him about ten years. We play together.”
“What do you mean, ‘play together’?”
“He ties me up.”
“Tell me how he ties you up and exactly what he does to you.”
Over the next twenty minutes Adam was made to describe in graphic detail everything Geoff liked to do to him – and there were a lot of things. It was not a conversation he’d have had with anyone else in the world, and it felt both humiliating and strangely horny to tell these guys his deepest secrets. Although he was still terrified, by the time he’d finished answering their questions about this, his cock was streaming precum and pushing hard against the thin leather of his jeans.
“And of all those things he does to you, which is the worst – or best?”
This was something he hadn’t mentioned. It was deeply humiliating, and it was the thing he was the most ashamed of. Under the hood he could feel his face going red. “Nothing really. That’s not important.”
There was a pause, and then it was suddenly impossible to breathe. He struggled to inhale but all that happened was that the shiny leather inside the hood clung to his face like film and he could not get any air. After fifteen seconds he started to panic, and strong hands held him down in the chair. He fought and thrashed about but it was no good – with his arms cuffed behind his back and his feet strapped together he was helpless.
Air returned, and he sucked it in as fast as the hood would allow.
“Oh fuck.”
“All it takes is a press of this button in my hand and we can do that again – for as long as we want. Now, I think I asked you a question.”
“Yes, yes.” He was still panting inside the black leather hood. “Sometimes,” it was still not easy to talk about, “sometimes he makes me wear the Milking Jeans,” he mumbled.
“The what?”
“The Milking Jeans,” He forced himself to say, louder.
“The Milking Jeans,” the guy repeated.
Hearing that coming from someone else was excruciatingly embarrasing. He was squirming under the hood.
Tell me what the Milking Jeans are, and what he does with them.”
He knew his face was bright red – not that they could see it. “They’re a pair of leather jeans. Very thin leather, and very soft. They used to be even softer but they’re… stiffer… at the front now.” He had never felt so embarrassed in his life. “When he tells me to put them on I know exactly what’s going to happen.”
“And what’s that?”
Adam was going redder by the second. He really didn’t want to tell anybody this. But he had no choice. He swallowed.
“I don’t know why, but the thing that turns me on most of all is cumming in leather jeans. It’s a fetish. Geoff found this out ages ago, and he keeps a special pair just for making me cum in. Sometimes when we play he doesn’t let me cum at all, but whenever he does, he makes me put those jeans on. I’ve only got to see the bloody things or hear him tell me to put them on and I almost cum.”
The guy waited for him to go on.
“Sometimes when he’s feeling evil he orders me not to wank for a few days. Then at the end of that, I go round to his place and we have a session. He spends a couple of hours edging me. Sometimes the bastard doesn’t let me cum at all and sends me home desperate to cum. But sometimes he makes me put those jeans on, and milks me. I never know which he’s going to do – but whichever he does I’m not allowed to wank for twenty-four hours after. If he hasn’t let me cum, that night and the next day are fucking impossible.”
“Tell me how he makes you cum when you’re in the jeans.”
Adam swallowed. “That’s the worst bit. He’s very into fucking, and I’m not. It hurts me like hell – always has done. He tells me that if I let him make me cum he’ll fuck me hard straight after, so don’t let myself cum. But he knows what those jeans do to me. Just pulling them on and zipping them up makes me desperate to shoot – and the bastard knows exactly how to make me lose it. He does it every time. I’ve never once been able to hold out. I try like mad. I do everything I can to stop him, I will myself not to cum, but I always fucking do.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“Huh? Oh how ?” he snorted. “He’s made a leather strap specially for me. It’s got a holder for a vibrator on it at the front. The holder is adjustable. He fastens the strap around my waist, positions the end of the vibrator on my cock through the jeans – but only touching the shaft, not the head - then he straps me to a post in his playroom. He sits down in a chair and presses a fucking button to turn the vibrator on. Then the bastard just sits back, relaxes, watching me and smiling. The vibrator’s just to make me need to cum; it doesn’t make me shoot – it would do easily if it was on my cock head but he makes sure it’s not - but it makes me need to very, very much. I always struggle to get it off my cock but I never can cos wherever I move, it moves with me. It’s fucking frustrating. Sometimes he leaves it on me for ages and I get so close but I can’t fucking cum. Then, when he thinks I’m desperate enough, he takes the strap off me, stands against me so I can feel his leathers on my skin, and slowly wanks me – right on my cock head. Feeling his leathers pressing against me and his fingers gently teasing my cock head when I’m so horny after that damn vibrator on the shaft, always makes me lose it. He whispers things like, “if you don’t wanna get fucked, don’t let me make you cum in the Milking Jeans...” while he’s doing it. And of course saying that to me only makes it worse. I fight to stop myself but I never can. I always fucking cum in seconds.”
Describing all of that had made his cock even harder. He could feel the precum running down the shaft. It felt like tiny, teasing fingers.
“I see. And the only time he makes you cum is in those jeans?”
“Yes.”
“Why do you think he always makes you wear them when he milks you?”
“I don’t know. Because he’s evil. But like I said, I’ve only got to see them or put them on – or even think about them – and it makes me need to cum.”
“You’ve been talking about them, so you must need to cum now…?”
Adam groaned into the leather hood. “Oh… You have no idea.”
There was a pause.
“You realise we’re recording this?”
He took a sharp breath. “Recording? Why?”
“Because it may be useful.”
“Useful? What do you mean?” He was very worried now.
There was no reply to that.
“Now, that’s all very interesting. The ‘Milking Jeans’.” He snorted. “You are a pervert, Adam. You know that?”
He nodded his head in shame; his face couldn’t have got any redder.
“I need to know that you will not, repeat not send any more emails with keywords and requests for hot MI5 officers to visit you.”
He nodded. “Yes. Of course. I won’t do it again.”
I’m afraid we need to be a bit surer about that.”
Adam was pushed out of the chair onto the floor. He felt the guy who’d been standing behind him lay down at his side. One strong arm went around his chest, another around his neck. The guy manouevered one foot under Adam’s and clamped both of his ankles between his, locking his combat-booted feet over them. He was held completely helpless. Adam’s hands, behind his back, were pressing against the guy’s crotch - and he could feel a hard cock under the leather jeans. Oh fuck, that felt so damn sexy.
There was a whining noise, and then something touched the thin leather over Adam’s cock head. It was a vibrator – but nothing like he’d felt before. Vibrators usually chugged or buzzed at various speeds, but this was a lot faster: it sounded like a dentist’s drill and sent a continuous wave of unbelievably intense pleasure through him – especially when it touched his sweet spot. He yelled into the hood.
The whining thing was removed, but the sound continued.
“Just think about what you’re going to say, Adam, because we intend to make very sure you mean it.”
The device touched his cock head again. He was on the edge of cumming. But then it was removed.
“Oh fuck. Please – leave it on.”
“Oh, not yet. You’re nowhere near enough yet. How does it feel through those leather jeans? They look thin – do they feel like the Milking Jeans?”
He was very close to cumming, and when he heard those magic words he suddenly got a lot closer.
He fought as the thing touched him again. His hard cock was straining against the thin leather over it, forcing it out into a pointed bulge that was desperately thrusting to make contact with that device. Immediately the compelling urge to cum returned, but again the vibrator was removed before he could, leaving him once more on the very edge of orgasm. He had rarely felt frustration like this before. He fought get get his hand to his cock, or to push harder against the vibrator, to make himself cum - but the strong arms and legs around him were holding him helpless and there was nothing he could do.
“Tell me again about the Milking Jeans. Describe them to me. In detail. And tell me exactly what it feels like when he teases your cock head through the leather.”
Being hooded, held down and interrogated by MI5 guys in black leather, and having that vibrator on his cock was bad enough, but being made to talk about those jeans as well made his need to cum worse than he would ever have imagined possible. After ten more minutes of this he was almost out of his mind. The vibrator was taken off again and he begged into the hood, “Pleeeeease! For God’s sake! Make me cum! He was beyond desperate.
The voice spoke quietly into his ears. “Tell me again that you will never send another email with keywords or wishes for your perverted sexual fantasies, to the British security services.”
“I won’t! I won’t! I promise I won’t! You have my word! I’m sorry!”
“If you ever do, other officers will be back to have a word with you – and you will not enjoy what they will do to do. Not all field officers are sexy guys in leather, believe me. We could drain your bank account in ten seconds. We could arrange a nasty accident for your cat. We know where your family live - how is your little sister Margaret? We could do all kinds of unpleasant things. And remember, we have the recording. How would your family and employers like seeing this on YouTube along with your name, address, email and phone number?”
While he’d been talking, the guy had been repeatedly touching the vibrator for a second at a time to Adam’s cock head, to keep him on the edge of cumming. After one more removal of the device – at which he screamed into the hood in unbearable frustration – he held it touching the bulging leather and didn’t remove it.
Adam’s hands clenched on the hard cock he could feel behind him as, with a scream, he came in his jeans.
When he collapsed back into the restraining arms and legs of the guy holding him, the high-pitched whine stopped. He was pulled up into the chair again, then fingers unstrapped and removed the hood. His hands were uncuffed and the strap around his ankles removed.
The guy was still sat watching him through the ski mask. There was no sign of the vibrator. Adam wanted one – and one of those leather hoods they’d used on him too.
The officer who’d been holding him down was putting the gear into a black bag – Adam didn’t get a chance to see the hood.
“We’ll see ourselves out,” said the other one, standing.
“I don’t think anybody’s going anywhere just yet.”
They all jerked their heads towards the doorway in surprise and saw two more men – in bomber jackets and leather jeans – and with balaclavas over their faces - standing there. How the fuck had they got in? Adam wondered.
“Adam Johnson?”
He nodded, incapable of speech.
The men looked at the ski-masked guys. “And you are?”
“Marc Davis.”
“Geoffrey Hastings.”
“Masks off.”
The two guys who had ‘interrogated’ Adam pulled their ski-masks off and it was Geoff. The second one must have been friend of his – Adam didn’t know him.
He stared. That had been Geoff? Now that he knew, he could see that it was. Why hadn’t he noticed before? The bastard!
“I suggest we all sit down again.” The two men in balaclavas came in and pushed the door closed firmly behind them. One of them was holding a leather bag.
“We’d like a word with you about an email.”
* * *
I did a spellcheck, then saved the file, and closed the window on the computer. Not a bad story, I thought. On the screen under where it had been was the email I’d sent to myself to check what font the emails used. ‘Device, Queen, Prime minister, Bomb, C4’ indeed. I chuckled - the idea that either GCHQ or MI5 would be bothered with the spunk-driven ravings of anybody at all made me laugh, but it was a nice idea for a story. I deleted the email, switched the machine off and stretched.
“Good evening.”
I nearly jumped out of my skin. Two figures in black leather stood in the office doorway.
“We’d like a word with you about an email...”
* * *
Ha! double twist ending, I thought. Nice. Would people understand it, though? Probably. It was late, and time for bed.
I did a spellcheck, then saved the file, and closed the window on the computer. Not a bad story, I thought. On the screen under where it had been was the email I’d sent to myself to check what font the emails used. ‘Device, Queen, Prime Minister Bomb C4’ indeed. I chuckled - the idea that either GCHQ or MI5 would be bothered with the spunk-driven ravings of anybody at all made me laugh, but it was a nice idea for a story. I deleted the email, switched the machine off and stretched.
“Good evening.”
I nearly jumped out of my skin. Two figures in black leather stood in the office doorway.
“We’d like a word with you...”
* * *
Ha! Triple twist ending, I thought. Nice. Would people understand it, though? Probably. It was late, and time for bed.
I did a spellcheck, then saved the file, and closed the window on the computer. Not a bad story, I thought. On the screen under where it had been was the email I’d sent to myself to check what font the emails used. ‘Device Queen Prime Minister Bomb C4’ indeed. I chuckled - the idea that either GCHQ or MI5 would be bothered with the spunk-driven ravings of anybody at all made me laugh, but it was a nice idea for a story. I deleted the email, switched the machine off and stretched.
* * *
Ha! Quadruple twist ending, I thought. Nice. Would people understand it, though? Probably. It was late, and time for bed.
I did a spellcheck, then saved the file, and closed the window on the computer.